


Minn

by adarbitrium



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Infidelity, Jealousy, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quickies, Sneaking Around, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28988718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adarbitrium/pseuds/adarbitrium
Summary: Randvi can’t fault Eivor for being good at making friends and allies with her charming smiles and poetic eloquence, nor can she fault others for being drawn to her. After all, she knows exactly what that feels like.OR;Eivor receives a warm welcome when she returns from Suthsexe.
Relationships: Eivor/Randvi (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 176





	Minn

**Author's Note:**

> _Minn_ \- mine, my, of me.
> 
> So this is completely silly and self-indulgent and based on this message someone was kind enough to send me on Tumblr: Headcanon - Randvi fucks Eivor hard when she comes back from Sussex, after learning Soma was there and that they shared some battles together.

Randvi had never really thought of herself as the jealous type, not that she had many reasons to feel jealous in her past relationships—fleeting romances, mostly—and most certainly not in her marriage with Sigurd. But with Eivor, she’d had to come to the realization that jealousy is a part of her, a part that she isn’t proud of, a part that she always tries to keep under control. She can’t fault Eivor for being good at making friends and allies with her charming smiles and poetic eloquence, nor can she fault others for being drawn to her. After all, Randvi knows exactly what that feels like. She knows it’s irrational, to feel this way, to care this much when it’s someone who isn’t even really hers to begin with, but gods, she does feel this way, she really fucking does, and even though she’s trying real hard to squash the bitter feeling whenever it rears its ugly head—there it is again.

The news about Suthsexe reached Ravensthorpe way before any of the warriors returned, Randvi’s scouts gave detailed accounts of the battles, how Eivor pushed back Portcestre’s forces, how she went after Fulke’s spies one by one, how she set Gildefort one fire, how she slayed the commanders of Briggworth before the Saxons could even notice a thing, how she burned down an entire village with Soma. Soma. The scouts have shared that tale with particular enthusiasm and wonder; how the jarlskona of Grantebridge and the Wolf-Kissed fought side by side to repel the waves of guards as the red hot flames licked at their feet.

Eivor and Soma this.

Soma and Eivor that.

Rationally, Randvi knows she shouldn’t feel this… irritated at the thought of the woman she’s heard so much about, and even though Eivor herself has confirmed that there are no feelings involved other than a strong sense of friendship and camaraderie, she can’t help the way her heart drops when she hears the stories of their shared battles.

That train of thought leads to dangerous places. Randvi tries not to delve too deep into the pool of jealousy that seems to have taken an even sturdier root in her over the past few moons, but sometimes… sometimes, she taps a vein without meaning to. She also knows for a fact no one else has ever made Eivor come more than once. But she has. And she knows it’s Eivor’s love for her that makes this, makes _them_ what they are… still, the idea comforts her nonetheless. Now, with her husband back, there should be even less place for such thoughts.

But when Sigurd, or whoever Sigurd has become, is not busy making the life of his clansmen miserable, he has been sulking in their chamber, so the sound of the horn signaling Eivor’s return is too loud for Randvi to ignore or resist. 

She notes the exact moment Eivor sees her coming. She hopes the other woman doesn’t notice her slight, foolish annoyance and the tension in her shoulders, but Eivor is quite perceptive when it comes to these sorts of things and, well, it’s possible that Randvi is not as discreet about it as she would want to be. The drengr’s blue eyes widen, dark blonde brows lifting in mild surprise and her lips (that Randvi is already desperate to devour with kisses) part ever so slightly. She smirks then, gesturing for Randvi to join the small crowd that has gathered around her. Randvi manages to put on a polite smile for Eivor’s audience, but feels her face flush and her heartbeat quicken when drengr seems to unconsciously gravitate closer to her as she recounts her tale for the many pairs of eager ears.

Randvi waits patiently for her to finish. Or maybe not so patiently. She just wants to grab her hand and pull her away from the gathering; she flexes her fingers with instinct, and Eivor must have read it in the way her shoulder twitches because she sways closer to her once again, barely an inch, definitely subtle enough to go unnoticed.

The second Eivor concludes the story about how they rescued their jarl and the people disperse to go about their business and prepare for the feast in the evening, Randvi turns to her and asks, “Will you walk with me? There is something I would like to discuss, privately.”

A flash of confusion, and perhaps worry, cross the blonde’s face before she replies, “Gladly.”

That voice. It’s like honey in mead, or sinking into a steaming hot spring on a cold winter day.

Without another word, Randvi guides Eivor through the settlement, keeping to the edge of the crowd that still lingers around the docks, avoiding as many obstacles as possible—obstacles such as the children, Holger or Alvis, whom Randvi knows would love to drag Eivor into a conversation and press her endlessly to share her even more of her newest anecdotes. Luckily, she succeeds in her mission and soon they reach the bridge leading across the small stream.

“Where are we going, Randvi?” Eivor asks, confused at being led farther and farther. “People will notice…” she adds, dropping her voice to a whisper.

Randvi smirks. It’s a dangerous game she’s playing, and reckless and just _plain stupid_ as it is, but a part of her wants people to know that Eivor isn’t available. That they don’t have a chance. She keeps her hands clasped firmly together in front of her as she steers the drengr on towards the hut that’s usually reserved for revelers and travelers passing through Ravensthorpe, or being used as storage for their festive decorations and knick-knacks when it’s unoccupied. She’s fairly certain there’s no one staying in there now. She _hopes_ there’s no one staying there.

She stops in front of the arched door and looks around, making sure that no prying eyes witness their escapade before gesturing for Eivor to walk inside. The blonde raises a questioning eyebrow and hesitates for a few seconds. When she does move, Randvi follows her and the moment they step inside, she pins the drengr against the nearest wall and kisses her, the sound she makes downright needy and a little vulgar. Eivor pulls back, and Randvi feels her heart stop when they lock eyes, but she stands firm and shoves her back, the length of her body warm and solid against her and she kisses her too hard, their noses bumping together. They kiss like it’s a battle and only one can come out breathing. She presses a thigh between Eivor’s legs, resulting in a choked moan escaping her throat and any worry Randvi had that Eivor might not want this vanishes. _Soma will never get to hear that sound._

Eivor gasps into her mouth at the contact, breaking off the kiss for a moment once again, only to point out, “Is this what you wanted to discuss?”

“Shut up,” Randvi says.

Eivor grins at her, tightening her grip on her waist just so it’s a little bit harder to concentrate. “Make me.”

All the blood in Randvi’s body drops between her legs and throbs there. So, she kisses her again, because kissing her is easier than putting up with the traitorous feeling in her own chest, the one that’s like doubt and jealousy all mixed together. Kissing Eivor is easy and natural and familiar, and if she puts a bit more force behind it, possessive and desperate in a way she hadn’t been since the first time they kissed. Eivor deepens the kiss, the same way she always does, pushing for some semblance of dominance, something which Randvi usually gives easily and willingly, but this time she pushes back. Because this isn’t about Eivor getting her out of her clothes and seeing how fast she can make her come—this is about Randvi reminding Eivor that she is hers. If Eivor has any other smart remark prepared, it never comes out.

Randvi pulls the fur and fabric away from Eivor’s neck, exposing the skin there, and suddenly her teeth are everywhere she can bite; along her throat, her jawline, and her collarbone, leaving angry dark marks wherever she touches. She kisses her below her ear like she always does in her daydreams, waits until Eivor makes that sigh that comes out a little too loud. When Randvi grabs her chin and tells her to be quiet, she sees Eivor’s eyes are glazed over, like she’s already too far gone, and Randvi has to stop for a moment and breathe. She gives herself the freedom to nip and suck her way along the neckline of her armor, leaving patchy bruises that Eivor will have to cover up for a while. She’ll be wearing her cloaks a little tighter for the next several days, if Randvi has anything to say about it. _Soma will never get to mark her like that._

Meanwhile, the drengr’s hands move against her as she shifts to help Randvi get a better angle when she works to unclasp her belt. She lets it fall to the ground with a thud, pulling her robe apart just enough so that her hand can slip underneath her breeches, with ease and familiarity, her other one sliding up under her tunic, running up the slope of her stomach. Eivor’s teeth latch onto her neck then, but she hardly notices. She’s wrapped up in the warmth around her fingers, the tights, pulsing walls bearing down around her. A single crook of her fingers earns all kinds of lovely noises, and addicted as she is, Randvi can’t stop. Not that she wants to.

Eivor is already lost, rocking into Randvi’s hand like nothing else in the world matters. Her hips roll in an increasingly frantic rhythm, and the only word she manages to say is _Randvi_ over and over again, with slightly increasing volume and desperation. Randvi doesn’t mind, they’re far enough from everyone, and hearing Eivor say her name _like that_ is her favorite thing.

It isn’t difficult. She knows Eivor’s body almost as well as she knows her own, enough to earn the reactions she wants with unerring accuracy. She knows exactly how much pressure to use as she hooks her fingers, and just the right pattern to move her thumb. In a matter of moments, Eivor is coming, whimpering into her neck and twitching like a leaf in the wind. _Soma will never get to see her like this_. Just watching, and feeling, is almost enough to push Randvi over the edge herself. One of Eivor’s knees is positioned between her legs now, and she rubs against it whenever she has the mental clarity to remember and do so, eager for her own release, but not eager enough to stop what she’s doing. She thrusts and curls and coaxes until Eivor is a quivering mess.

Randvi takes a moment to admire her handiwork. Eivor is a stunningly beautiful sight with her face flushed, her lips swollen and flushed pink, her usually sharp blue eyes glassy. But she’s alert enough to start fumbling with Randvi’s belt, and moments later, her fingers are hard at work in a way that has Randvi’s breath instantly hitching in her throat as sparks of white-hot pleasure course through her body, her legs weakening beneath her. She plays her easily, far too easily, touching her just right so that Randvi can do nothing but lean there, still over Eivor, still pressing her into the wall, and hope that her legs will manage to hold her steady, while her hand trembles along Eivor’s sides.

To her credit, Randvi manages to last about thirty seconds. “How do you even—” But then she forgets her words, and all she can do is bite down on her own lip to keep the cries inside as she hits her peak, shuddering every bit as hard as Eivor did mere moments before. It’s more than she’d hoped for, honestly, after spending weeks upon weeks waiting for Eivor to return, and then having the honor of making her come in this empty, messy and muggy hut. _Soma will never get to experience that._

By the time it’s over, Randvi is dizzy and overstimulated, but nowhere near finished. The mischievous glint has returned to Eivor’s eyes, and Randvi reaches up to straighten the collar of her robe with the hand that isn’t wet. That one, she slides into her mouth, making a show of licking her fingers clean while Eivor’s lips fall part-way open.

Distantly, through the still overwhelming pleasure, she realizes that Eivor is talking to her, steady reassurance, “I’m yours and only yours,” repeated endlessly, as if she was reading the thoughts running through her mind and haunting her constantly, “Yours,” she says again as she nuzzles into her shoulder, panting heavily. Her hot mouth grazes the shell of Randvi’s ear, sending another flash between her legs. But it’s the words, the _fucking words,_ that drive Randvi so crazy. She looks up to take Eivor in—beautiful with a bruise in the shape of Randvi’s lips blossoming on the skin above her collarbone, and _hers_.

“Mine,” Randvi says.

“Yours.”

_No one else will ever hear those words_.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually think Randvi and Soma would be great friends, but jealous!Randvi is god tier, so I'm sorry, Soma, I had to do you dirty and just use you. I also remember very little of the Suthsexe questline so... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
